Chapter 284: The Origin Story of the Future

Aria padded softly down the dimly lit hallway, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.

She stopped in front of the door of Damien’s private study.

She knocked softly.

Silence.

"Damien?" Aria called out, keeping her voice low.

Nothing but the faint, ambient hum of the central air conditioning answered her.

Aria frowned. She placed her hand on the brass lever and pushed the door open, stepping into the dark room.

"Damien, I need to—"

The words died in her throat.

The study was pitched in near-total darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Damien was shirtless and sitting at his mahogany desk. He was slumped forward, his face resting on the polished wood.

Aria stepped closer, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

Resting next to his elbow was an empty bottle of Macallan. And next to the glass was a small, orange prescription bottle. The white cap was off, tossed carelessly aside.

Aria’s breath hitched.

She quickly picked up the plastic bottle, squinting at the label in the dark. Zolpidem. Very strong sleeping pills.

She looked from the empty scotch bottle to the pills, letting out an exasperated tsk.

"Were you trying to kill yourself?" Aria muttered under her breath, her chest tightening with a pang of worry.

She set the pill bottle down. She knew he wasn’t actually suicidal—he was just a man who refused to process his emotions like a normal human being.

Aria should have just turned around and left. He was dead to the world, so she would just have to wait until morning to find out where her father was.

But she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

She crouched down beside the leather chair, resting her hands gently on the edge of the mahogany desk. She tilted her head, staring at his sleeping face.

The lines of stress around his eyes had smoothed out entirely. His long, dark eyelashes rested against his cheekbones. His silver hair fell messily over his forehead.

He looked peaceful. He looked unfairly gorgeous.

’Why do the insane ones have to have be so handsome?’ Aria thought. ’It’s literally a trap.’

She slowly reached out, her fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of silver hair away from his forehead. He leaned into the touch subconsciously, a soft exhale escaping his lips.

Aria smiled, her heart executing a flutter against her ribs.

She stayed crouched there for a few minutes, just watching his chest rise and fall, until the cartilage in her knees began to protest her position.

"Okay, my knees are fifty years old," Aria groaned quietly, pushing herself up from the floor.

She was just turning to leave when the sudden vibration of a cell phone shattered the quiet.

The device rattled loudly against the mahogany desk, lighting up the dark space.

Aria jumped, her eyes darting to the screen.

Caller ID: Kai Vane

Aria looked at Damien. He didn’t even twitch. The sleeping pills had dragged him down into a Mariana Trench-level coma.

She looked back at the phone.

Kai was Damien’s right hand and best friend. If Damien knew the truth about her family, Kai definitely knew the truth too.

Aria snatched the phone off the desk and swiped the green accept button, lifting it to her ear.

"Hello?" Aria answered, keeping her voice soft.

The line went dead silent for a few seconds.

"...Sister-in-law?" Kai’s voice filtered through the speaker, laced with genuine surprise. "What are you doing answering his phone? Is he alive?"

"Damien is asleep," Aria stated bluntly.

"Asleep? It’s barely past midnight. The man functions on spite and coffee, he doesn’t sleep," Kai muttered, clearly confused.

"Well, he is," Aria responded, looking at the pill bottle. "So, he can’t talk. I’ll tell him you called in the morning."

"Right. Cool. Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow, then," Kai said, his voice instantly shifting into a hasty retreat. He clearly had no intention of prolonging a conversation with her.

"Wait," Aria commanded sharply.

Kai paused. "Yeah?"

Aria didn’t waste time circling the drain.

"Were you calling about Geneviève Orpheus?" Aria demanded. "Or Marcel Martin?"

Silence stretched across the phone line.

And then, Kai opened his mouth.

"Who?" Kai asked. His voice was smooth, relaxed, and pitched into a tone of perfect, unbothered confusion. "Geneviève? Is that a new designer? Aria, I have no idea who you are talking about."

Aria’s jaw locked. "Don’t play dumb with me, Kai."

"I’m genuinely lost, kid," Kai chuckled. "Are you reading those Wattpad mafia books again? Did you mix up your script pages?"

"Stop wasting my time with the gaslighting," Aria hissed, her grip tightening on the phone. "Damien already told me. I know everything. I know about the French mafia. I know about my parents."

"Ari, listen to me," Kai’s voice dropped into a gentle, patronizing, soothing register. "You’ve had a rough week. You sound exhausted. You should really go get some rest. We’ll talk about your movie scripts tomorrow, okay?"

"Kai, I swear to God—"

"Goodnight, Sister-in-law. Sleep tight."

Click.

Kai hung up on her.

Aria slowly lowered the phone, staring at the dark screen in disbelief.

"Unbelievable," Aria scoffed, tossing the phone back onto the desk. "The audacity of these men to keep my own business from me."

She crossed her arms, thoroughly annoyed, but looking back down at Damien, the anger melted away. He looked cold.

Aria quietly slipped out of the study and then returned with a plush, faux-fur throw blanket and a small pillow.

She carefully draped the blanket over Damien’s broad, bare shoulders, tucking it securely around his back. With feather-light touches, she gently lifted his head just enough to slide the soft pillow underneath his cheek.

Damien let out a low, satisfied hum in his sleep, nuzzling his face into the soft fabric of the pillow.

Aria smiled, brushing one last silver curl from his eyes.

She turned and left the study, pulling the door shut with a soft click.

Aria headed straight for the kitchen, intending to grab an ice-cold bottle of Fiji water from the fridge before going to bed.

The living room was dark. Aria didn’t bother turning on the lights, relying on the city glow filtering through the windows.

She reached the kitchen island and opened the refrigerator door.

As she twisted the cap off a water bottle, a subtle sound caught her attention.

Click. Aria froze.

It was the quiet sound of a door closing coming from the guest corridor.

Aria slowly shut the fridge door. She stepped back into the shadows of the kitchen, peering around the edge of the marble island.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out of the dark hallway and into the moonlight of the living room.

Aria’s eyes widened.

It was Richard.

He was fully dressed in his dark suit. His posture was, as always, impossibly rigid and perfectly composed. He was quietly walking toward the elevator.

Aria glanced over her shoulder at the glowing green numbers on the oven clock.

2:45 AM.

She looked back at Richard.

"Richard?" Aria called out softly, stepping out from behind the island.

Richard stopped instantly. He turned toward her, his expression a flawless, unreadable mask of professional neutrality. He didn’t look startled in the slightest.

"Mrs. Sinclair," Richard greeted, offering a slight, respectful bow of his head. "My apologies if I disturbed you."

Aria crossed her arms, looking at him with deep suspicion.

"What are you doing in the penthouse at three in the morning?" Aria asked, her eyes narrowing. "And what were you doing down the guest corridor?"

"Ms. Sinclair called down to the security desk, Ma’am," Richard responded. "She requested an emergency delivery of a specific medical bandage for her injured thigh. I brought it up to her suite to ensure she was comfortable."

Aria stared at him. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

It was a perfectly plausible excuse. Diana was injured. She was dramatic. Calling Damien’s best operative to act as a glorified bellhop at three in the morning was exactly the kind of entitled nonsense Diana would pull.

"Okay," Aria said slowly, though her intuition was screaming that something was off. "Well... goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Sinclair," Richard nodded smoothly.

He turned and walked toward the foyer, hitting the call button for the elevator.

Aria stood in the dark kitchen, taking a slow sip of her water. She watched the glowing numbers of the elevator display descend.

Why did it feel so weird?

Aria tapped her fingernail against the plastic bottle, her mind turning gears. And then, like a lightning bolt striking a satellite dish, a memory from her past life booted up in her brain.

Aria gasped, nearly choking on her water.

In 2026, exactly two years from now, the Sinclair family was going to be rocked by a massive, high-society scandal. Diana Sinclair, who was well into her late forties and notoriously single, would have a controversial, hushed-up pregnancy.

The media had gone feral trying to uncover the identity of the father. The Sinclair PR machine had buried the story, threatening to sue any publication that dared to print a name. The father was never officially unmasked.

’But the rumors... they said she got pregnant for...’

Aria’s thoughts trailed off. Her eyes blew wide as she quickly turned around, her heart pounding. But the foyer was empty. The steel doors of the elevator were already shut. Richard was gone.

"...her bodyguard," Aria muttered into the silence, finishing her own horrified thought.

Aria slowly turned her head, looking down the dark, empty guest corridor. Then, she looked back at the closed elevator doors.

Aria clapped a hand over her mouth. A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in her chest.

"No. Way."